"I am Unnamed. My title is dead."
In the World, the Planet, and the Base, it's either be number one or die.
The alternative to dying, however, is to become an Unnamed. Turning eighteen means that you will compete for your name. Come out on top, you...
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"Did you send someone down there?" the Runner asks as he walks up to Mortimer the Elite Solver at his desk. The old man looks up at him with tired, watery eyes, surprised by his Servant's change of character.
"No, Runner," he breathes softly and places his head in his hand. "No I didn't."
"Then why was the Elite Leader down there? Why was he in the tunnels?"
The old man runs his hand over his long white beard and sighs heavily again. His face is riddled with trouble, making him look his age, making him look frail. "I told him about it."
"What? Who? The Elite Leader? You said you wouldn't—"
"I know, Runner. But I had to." Mortimer runs his hand over his face, his eyes looking somewhere far into the distance past the Runner, almost into a different world. "Someone else died."
"From what?"
"Gunshot. A boy with a gun walked through town and caused a ruckus with another boy... he shot him without a second glance, Runner. The boy died right there... a Gardener. The boy with the gun disappeared before anyone could catch a glimpse of him.
"Runner, I had to tell someone. We can't keep living like this. I'm sorry. I didn't know that he would go down into the tunnels to investigate."
The Runner stares at the man, not knowing what to say, not knowing if he should say anything. They're out in the open and anyone would be able to hear them if they're shouting. He could get in trouble for even approaching the Elite without having a plausible cause related to his job.
He shakes his head and takes a step back, feeling the knot in his stomach grow.
"Runner, I'm sorry."
The Runner closes his eyes and bounces on the balls of his feet, thinking. He tells himself it's alright, that he'll find the guy and he'll tell him what happened.
But he can't do that without blowing his cover.
"Master," the Runner says finally, looking up at the white-haired man sitting at the desk in front of him. "They're laying low for the next ten days. They said that gives five days for training for the competitions, and I'm going to be one of the ones inside it for them, if I play my cards right.
"I need to train hard. Harder than I've ever trained before. And I need you to help me with it, because I can only do so much." The Runner shrugs as he sticks his hands in his jacket pocket.
"You still want my help?" The Elite solver asks, finally looking the Runner in the eye. A glint of hope in the old man's eyes takes the Runner by surprise. "After what I've done?"
The Runner nods. "You're my Master. I couldn't really say no to that."
The Elite Solver chuckles sadly. "Well you could, but the way the system is set up today, you'd be punished for going against my orders. But good job trying to make me feel better."
